


Celestial Bodies: Dave Bowman x Reader

by orphan_account



Series: Celestial Bodies: Dave Bowman x Reader [1]
Category: 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
Genre: Astronauts, Canon Divergent, Eventual Smut, F/M, My First Work in This Fandom, NSFW, Outer Space, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Work In Progress, i think he's hot and this is what spawned, im going to hell, lmao please don't kill me if u think bowman is gay, sorry god dont @ me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 21:39:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19411921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?” ― Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart // You, reader, are assigned to accompany Drs. Poole and Bowman on the Discovery mission to alleviate their loneliness and provide some female comfort. Dr. Bowman in particular intrigues you.





	1. Penumbra

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I am pretty new in the 2001: ASO fandom. Don't hate me if you think Dave is gay, I think he's hot. This is for all you ladies in agreement.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penumbra (n.) – the shadow cast by the earth or moon over an area experiencing a partial eclipse; the less dark outer part of a sunspot

Men need sex, it is claimed, perhaps more often than the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach. Sex is a need: physical, emotional, spiritual, and relational, driven by desire, though not nearly as much as by simple testosterone. In fact, it has been asserted that, though need is a feeling in and of itself, men can experience such arousal and desire independent of any emotional attachment.

Perhaps, then, that is why I was a perfect candidate to accompany five men – and only men, aside from myself and an AI – on USAA’s hot topic of a mission, the Discovery One, set to investigate strange radio frequencies and signals pinging from the area near Jupiter and Saturn. A bright young intern at the space agency, I had been chosen for my kind demeanor, eagerness for experience, and outgoing yet thoughtful, introspective personality. Of course, I hadn’t been told of the exact nature of my personal mission, to keep the men company and provide a comforting female presence, lest their minds be clouded by their pent-up aggression and ever-rising testosterone levels. Instead, it was explained to me in a more feminist-friendly fashion: the men could use the help of a quick female mind, the mediating presence of a fair woman, and the sociality and chattiness presumed to be traits held dear by all girls, not to mention the great opportunity for study and experience that laid within the offer. Dr. Heywood Floyd, the man and mind behind the mission, had laid the idea out for me during a quick stop in the hall on the way to the lunch room, giving me until the next day to accept or reject his proposition. My ambitions never weaning, I stopped by his office first thing the next day, informing him of my agreement, albeit it gingerly, to his terms. The scientist, feet up on his desk, relaxed, clapped his hands together in glee – whether on behalf of himself, me, or the men I was to accompany, I still don’t quite know.

“Wonderful,” he breathed, beaming. “I’m sure you won’t regret your decision; you’ll have the greatest time. I couldn’t think of a more rewarding experience for all your hard work. I’ll send word immediately.”

The narcissist. All his sentences to me in that exchange beginning with “I”, knowing exactly what he was doing, sacrificing me, not himself.

How daft I must have been not to see between the lines – an ignorant, pitiless mistake on my part – as both a young woman and a relatively intelligent person. How daft I must have been not to consider his fast-paced inquisition as unprofessional, or to request more time to think the man’s proposal over, or to inquire more about the nature and duties of the mission at hand. Impossibly stupid of me, I now realize in hindsight, though, at the time, I had only thought of it as odd and somewhat unusual, especially to ask me of all people there, as compared to other, more learned, more experienced female scientists. However, I cannot say I have fully come to regret my choice.

Thus, it was arranged, with minimal input from me. We would begin preparations and training only four months before, with our launch planned for July 12, 2001. I was grateful to be allowed to experience one last holiday, Independence Day, on at home and on Earth before departing to Cape Canaveral, Florida, in anticipation for the formal beginnings of the Discovery One mission, leaving on the fifth of the month to allow for one week of hands-on education, the rest having been at other USAA institutions nationwide in the months before.

* * *

The first day, as could be expected, was the worst. A precursor for the other days, time awake consisted of several block periods with assigned events – code and procedure refreshers, reviews on medical procedures, mock-ups and simulations, public speaking and language courses, math and physics evaluations, and so on – all between assigned meal times. From the moment I arrived at the launch facility cabin and training center, I felt out of place, both in my womanhood and in my relative youth. Like the rings of Saturn, I was quickly shepherded into a small conference room by two moon-faced staff members, being told to “hurry along” and “stop dilly-dallying.” What kind of greeting for me, a to-be space traveler, an astronaut and cosmonaut, was that supposed to be?

Chalking their condescending attitude and word choice up to patronization of my younger age and femininity, I spent the rest of the blurry day in an annoyed mood, not listening as intently as I should have been for the lectures that followed in the conference room with white-painted popcorn walls and blue carpeted floors. Instead, I scanned the faces of the people around me, searching for any sign of mutual lack of interest in the foreman’s welcome spiel, though to no avail. The toned grey color of our unitardal uniforms seemed to match the dull atmosphere of the room – at least in my nonchalant point of view.

Again, I raised my eyes, not in intrigue at whatever words were being said but only to inspect the faces of those others seated around the rectangular maple table, leaning forward with fingers steepled or interlaced, clasping the hands together, or leaning backward, maintaining a carefree posture, arms behind the head. I made mental notes of observation as my eyes moved over each other member present.

To my left, a man with dark hair – brown-black, if not entirely black – and dark eyes to match, set in an olive-skinned, structured face, garnished with stubble on his chin and cheeks. Italian ancestry, no doubt, I thought, or maybe Spanish, maybe even Greek. He listened closely to the lecture, eyes pointed toward the head of the table, yet gave off an aura of laid-backness, cockiness, and for lack of a better word, mischief. If my life aboard the spacecraft were left in his hands, I may have found myself a tad concerned. I examined his name patch, dutifully and straightly stitched over his left breast pocket: F. Poole. A considerably English last name.

To his left, another man, though with paler, cooler tones to his skin and a neat mop of light brown, perhaps even dirty blond, hair swept to the right atop his firm head. He had thin lips, rosy to the point of nearing a girly pink hue. Thick, broad eyebrows bordered his sky-blue eyes, which, upon undoubtedly feeling my regardful, analytic stare, dodged my gaze and redirected their attention back to the front, almost as if to chide me for not doing the same. On his breast, another grey patch with another name stitched in black: D. Bowman. Another English last name. Yet, in contrast to Poole, this man was clearly no-nonsense, highly acute to his surroundings.

On my right, yet another man – by this point, I had become keenly aware of my status of being the only woman in the room – a tad heavier set, wearing jeans, sneakers, and a University of Chicago pullover, lacking a name patch. His tan face adorned with thick-framed plastic glasses and a wavy black-brown beard, he looked pensive, as if he were trying to come up with solutions for every problem we may be presented with on the mission. I had no doubt that he would not be joining us, emphasized by his lack of a matching uniform, due to his kind-looking face: the look of a man I would not have to babysit for the coming months, if not years, did not appear as charming and seemingly thoughtful as he did.

On the other side of the table, an empty chair all the way to the left, followed by, as I had assumed there would be, three other men, unintentionally seated in height order, in the rightmost three chairs. I wordlessly read out their name patches, the letters and names bouncing around and off the walls within my bored, empty mind: C. Hunter, V. Kaminski, and P. Whitehead, from left to right, from shortest to tallest.

I mulled over the initials of each first name in my head, coming up with useless observations and noticing foolish patterns. C, D, F, P, V. No names starting with vowels. No alpha or omega, no A or Z. No forgotten letter X. I’m sure, too, that there are no unisex names – no chance of anyone but me being female here.

With the last thought’s words still rippling through the currents of my mind, as if on cue, the man in the pullover behind me stood up, clearing his throat, and shuffled to the front of the room, smiling and giving us all a nod of acknowledgement. The other frontman, who my eyes now cared enough to let me process as Dr. Floyd, stepped back, allowing the bearded one, who looked to be a college student, to take center stage.

“Glad you all could make it. I hope you had a leisurely trip down here; your upcoming trip into the cosmos will not be as relaxing, though I will say it will likely be more fun.” A few chuckles were heard in reply from the rest of the seated crowd of five, six, including myself.

“My name is Dr. Chandra – Anay Chandra, if you will. In order to make your mission a bit less tedious, I’ve created an artificial intelligence for your spacecraft. Well, more like a heuristically programmed algorithmic computer – HAL, if you will,” he announced, repeating and tripping over his own words. “This system is designed to control onboard systems, interact with you all, the crew, and maintain ship functions, making things a bit easier for you. HAL is sentient, so please be kind to him. He will be able to speak with you, see you, and he will treat you well. His job is just as hard as yours, especially because he is both foolproof and incapable of error – he doesn’t have the luxury of being able to mess up. He can make no human mistakes, and that is difficult enough, since all of you can be redeemed by your human nature!” This quip was witty enough to earn a giggle from me, along with other ones scattered throughout the room. Chandra’s personality and presentation seemed to bring in a little light. “I am confident in HAL’s performance and dependability. He, like you, has a personality and a job to do – treat him as your friend, who may not have a body, but does have several physical inputs throughout the ship.” At this, Chandra drew a rectangle with his finger, explaining, “His body, if you will, is a black rectangular system mounted to various ship walls and control boards. There is a red lens near the bottom. That would be his eye, so don’t poke it.” He continued on about the specifications of the AI, its operations, and its functions, before resuming a tangentless monologue.

“Unfortunately, I will not be onboard as part of Discovery One’s staff with you all, but HAL will be able to troubleshoot and cooperate with me from a distance if needed. I’m sure he is just as eager to begin working with all of you, as am I, even if indirectly,” Chandra smiled as he paused. “With that said, I believe it’s ample time for you all to meet your fellow crew members. Dinner is available for you in the center cafeteria.”

“Enjoy your last few days of food that is not freeze-dried,” chimed in Dr. Floyd from over Chandra’s thick shoulder. “Who knows what you’ll be eating in space.” He winked an eye in my direction, which my eyes shot down with daggers in response.


	2. Constellation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constellation (n.) – a group of stars forming a recognizable pattern

The dinner had gone by uneventfully, with us crew members, free from the presence of Dr. Floyd and Dr. Chandra, mingling between bites of our respective dishes. Having finished the primary serving, some of us, myself included, went back for seconds, wanting to savor our last few earthly meals and soak in the smell, taste, and texture of our food. An all-American crew, in a few short days, we would undoubtedly be developing cravings for all of the easily-accessible, ever-flavorful things formerly available to us just a short drive away from our respective homes. I, in particular, would miss non-American cuisine the most, Vietnamese _pho_ soup being a favorite of mine. I shared this musing with fellow astronauts Poole and Whitehead, first names Frank and Peter, respectively, who joined in listing all the delicious treats they couldn’t bear to be without: hamburgers, steaks, snacks, and so on. From a few seats away, Victor Kaminski, in a lilting, slight Polish accent, voiced his concern over not being able to eat his grandmother’s pierogi for the foreseeable future. Charles Hunter, seated next to Victor, was in agreement over missing pierogi – his, though, coming from an immigrant-owned restaurant a few blocks from his home. 

I smiled, thinking to myself how glad I was that despite our differences in age and sex, all of us crew members were able to bond relatively quickly and decently well, even if just over food.

“Dave,” Frank pressed, turning his head over to our fellow astronaut’s limp seated form, hunched over his chicken and macaroni dinner at a nearby table, “what food are you going to miss? I’m sure there must be something. No man can resist his favorite meal.”

Pursing his lips, blue eyes downcast as he speared some macaroni elbows onto his fork, Bowman said nothing, only studying his plate. Whether or not he had heard Frank was not a question; his voice was far too boisterous not to be picked up by the ears. Perhaps he had heard, but not listened; perhaps he had listened, but ignored. “Apple pie,” he answered after a considerable silence, not looking up from the dish before him. “It’s a real treat.”

“Not a food, Dave,” Frank called out. “That’s a dessert; a treat, as you said. Gimme a real food.”

Another bout of silence as Dave mulled the prompt over, going over a list of his favorite foods in his head. “I don’t know. Something Italian, probably. Spaghetti and meatballs.” A typical answer, but one that satisfied Frank, nonetheless, who turned back towards Peter and I to continue conversation.

* * *

By night, I had met all of my fellow crew members, memorized their names and faces, and loosely assigned personality traits to each. I did not know much about them aside from their crew positions and the former tidbits of information, but I figured that it was enough to be prepared for the mission with. I read the list of spacecraft staff over in my head, starting with myself and HAL, likely the two most logical beings to be onboard. Then there was Dr. Bowman, David Bowman, Dave Bowman, the blue-eyed, brown-haired mission commander who appeared ever-pensive, straightforward, and logical, with a personality more on the cold, introverted side. His exact opposite, Dr. Poole, Francis Poole, Frank Poole, was to be second-in-command; a fact hard to believe due to the man’s smug, prankish nature, though I did see, during the meeting, that he, too, could have a more serious side. The others, Peter Whitehead, Charles Hunter, and Victor Kaminski, were, too, astronauts, albeit lower in command, and would remain in a coma-like cryosleep state of suspended animation in personal hibernation pods until we reached our destination among the planets, wherever it may be. The mere thought of the journey both excited and terrified me; I, unlike them, would be awake throughout the whole journey, unable to interact with anyone but Dr. Bowman, Dr. Poole, and HAL. Suddenly, the mission seemed more lonely than exhilarating; I began to feel for the mission heads, understanding, ever so slightly, the need for me to accompany and comfort them, to keep them grounded and sane in an unfamiliar cosmic setting aboard a solitary spaceship floating among stardust and satellites, for weeks and months on end.

How long we would be gone, I didn’t know exactly – I could not count the days without a proper 24-hour cycle of the sun – and as I stood in front of the training cabin’s communal bathroom mirror, loaded with this question alone, I considered backing out altogether, assaulted by an onslaught of other nagging questions. _Why me? What good could I do here aside from becoming a plaything for men? Would that jeopardize the mission at hand, or, as hypothesized, could a female’s presence really keep men from becoming too disagreeable and boost their morale and teamwork? What would my reputation be upon returning to Earth? Would my internship still stand? Would I get demoted, or promoted, if anything?_

These thoughts and more made my head begin to throb as I washed my face, examining my reflection, which stared back at me with bags developing under her eyes from anxiety, worry, and, admittedly, a twinge of fear at the thought of venturing into the unknown, especially in the context given for my duties. I appeared to be a mere tool, and yet, somehow, a vital part of the mission, keeping the men, even those in suspended animation, in check. I continued cleaning myself, focusing my thoughts on space as opposed to more earthly matters, turning trivial with each passing second: just how dark could it get out there, and how often would we pass by a body worth seeing? How would we get through the asteroid belt unscathed, playing _Titanic_ among the small rocky worlds to avoid destroying the ship? Would I be leaving the ship, or would that be reserved for actual astronauts, if not solely for the top in command?

Such musings continued to ricochet around my head for the rest of the night, costing me peace of mind, until, from the depths of the mind, drowsiness pulled me under, and I succumbed to sleep at last in the prepared cabin bed.

* * *

The morning of the second day started early, with me and the men being woken up to begin more preparation courses before breakfast. Dressing myself in the mandatory navy blue unitard for today’s exercises, I stumbled into the bathroom to wash up again, too tired to confront the thoughts pestering me from the night before in the very same location. I scrubbed my face with a towel, having doused it in warm water, if not merely lukewarm, before, and brushed my hair before putting on the slightest bit of makeup – preferring to keep with my routine and maintain some sort of attractiveness in spite of the ugly uniform required of me to wear – and heading out to a classroom down the hall.

Walking in, I noticed I was one of the first few there, and as such, I took a rightful spot in desk in the front row, partly in an effort to pay better attention. The room, much like the small conference room yesterday, was painted in white with sad blue carpeting on the floor, nothing – not even windows – on the walls to provide a bit of flair save for a digital clock mounted by the door, its screen reading out 7:58 in angry, red, blocky numbers. I tapped my fingers against the wooden surface of my desk. How long might it take everyone else to show up?

The answer was no time at all, with the instructors, Drs. Chandra and Floyd, barreling through the door together at the switch of 7:59 and Drs. Poole and Bowman entering right at 8:00, coolly sliding into their respective chosen desks, styrofoam coffee cups in hand. _What I would do for a cup of coffee right about now, it’s too early for this._ Dave must have caught me envying his caffeinated luxury, sliding his cup away from me to the other side of his desk, keeping the sight – and smell – of it from distracting me from today’s instruction. Frank surely noticed, shaking his head (whether at Dave or at me I couldn’t say; we both deserved the chastising) and chuckling to himself, leaning back in his seat to prepare for the lecture of the hour.

“Good morning,” Dr. Chandra sang, addressing us all by surname in greeting. “For the better part of the day, we will be going over your duties with each of you individually, making sure you know everything about the specifications of your role in the crew. Remember, the mission needs each one of you to do your part in order to be a success–” he paused briefly. “Even those of you who will be sleeping for the majority of it. So, no harm in waking up early now to train. I assure you, you’ll be able to catch up on rest once the mission begins; HAL will do most of the job for you, rest assured,” Chandra explained. “We would also like for each of you to get to know him today – to meet him, if you will. We will be taking you onboard the ship in groups of three to take time to sit down with him, ask questions, understand how he operates, and so on.” The Indian man was brimming with excitement, much like a father boasting about his son. In a way, HAL could be understood as Chandra’s son, as without him, HAL would not have, for lack of a better word, life. “So, why don’t we begin with that? I find it would be a great way to start the day – an icebreaker of sorts, if you will.”


	3. Sputnik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sputnik (n.) – Russian; literally, “fellow traveler” or “traveling companion”

Seated in three swiveling chairs attached to the floor, a board full of buttons and controls before us, Dr. Bowman, and Dr. Poole, and I examined the hardy black rectangle, its red lens seeming to gleam with delight, in the middle of the panel. A blue strip above the console spelled out, in white Arial letters, the formal name of the device: HAL 9000. A speaker was in place below its red circular “eye”, looking like silvery mesh more so than a voice box. 

“Good morning, HAL,” Dave began, brows furrowed in slight confusion as to what exactly to say.

The AI answered promptly in a smooth, monotone voice. “Good morning. Forgive me, but to whom do I owe the pleasure of speaking? You do not look or sound like Dr. Chandra.”

“Dr. David Bowman. I’ll be mission commander of _Discovery One_.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Bowman. I look forward to working with you. I am confident in our cooperation and the success of the mission. Do you mind if I call you Dave?”

“No, not at all.” 

“Excellent. And who is this to your right; would I be correct in my assumption that this is Dr. Francis Poole?”

The darker-haired nodded, impressed by HAL’s skill and quick identification. “Yes, but call me Frank – how did you know?”

If HAL had a physical body, he may have nodded, smiling with a small sense of pride. “Dr. Chandra informed me that you and Dave will be working together. You are the second-in-command, I suppose.”

Frank grumbled, a bit disheartened. “If I had it my way, I would be first-in-command, but again, you’re right.”

“In either case, I am eager to begin working with you, Frank. I am sure we will get along very well.” I could feel HAL’s unblinking, unmoving gaze focus on me, to the left of Dave, the red light coming from his lens glowing a little more intensely – perhaps, though, it was just my imagination. “Are you third-in-command? Forgive me, but you seem a bit young for that qualification, though I do not doubt your aptitude.”

I smiled weakly, understanding HAL’s confusion at my identity, though, more likely than not, his confusion at my presence there whatsoever. I felt for him without knowing if he felt at all. “No, I’m just here for a good time,” I joked, without a comical response from HAL, nor from Dave or Frank. I gave him my name, stating, “I’m an intern. I’ll just be helping out around the ship. I hope you don’t mind – I promise I won’t take over any of your duties.” 

“I see. I am excited to work with you; yet I cannot help but sense your restlessness over the mission. I have great faith in your ability to perform well alongside Frank, Dave, and myself.”

“Thank you, HAL,” I chirped, swiveling back and forth in my chair, like a child. “I’m excited to see what the mission has in store for us.”

In my mind, pseudo-physical HAL nodded in agreement and cleared his throat for his next vocalization. Still, though, he remained in his console form, black-box-like and stationary, red lens shimmering with reflections from the fluorescent lighting around us in the ship. The cylindrical room filled with the echo of quiet before the AI spoke again.

“I would like to get to know each of you a little more in depth. Do you mind if I ask you some personal questions?”

“No, not at all,” Dave said flatly, speaking for Frank and I.

“Wonderful. I am curious about each of your personalities and interests – well, let me put it this way. Because we will be spending so much time together and working so closely in the coming months, I find it necessary to build a solid, stimulating relationship with each of you. Dr. Chandra has told you enough about me, so, I would like to know about you.”

And so, as our fellow astronauts were being prepared for cryosleep in their pods, we began to know HAL, who would become just like another crew member, nearly taking the place of the three in suspended animation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is a bit of a filler chapter, but the best is yet to come! A short read.


	4. Flyby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flyby (n.) – a flight past a point, especially the close approach of a spacecraft to a planet or moon for observation

David Bowman was the quiet, pensive type – not one to be occupied by trivial matters, he was effectively perpetually lost in either one of two things: his work or his thoughts. He was hardly one to focus on women, on politics, on anything but work and himself, as that was what the majority of his world consisted of. Not that he was isolated, nor was he socially inept. He simply preferred his own company to that of others. 

Of course, he had experienced women, politics, and things outside of work – not necessarily against his will. He wouldn’t argue that he was merely living, not alive; to him, nothing was more wonderful than the cosmos and the emptiness, the solitude, that they allowed. This is what made Dave light up more than all the stars in the splendid, velvety-blue night sky. To go where no man could once before even think to go, and to go there as a career, was his pure joy – though, not in his nature to wear his heart on his sleeve, he wouldn’t articulate it clearly. One would have to be able to read him like an open book in order to understand his tics and body language, as he wasn’t known to share his thoughts, particularly not openly.

Physically, behind the mission commander’s blue eyes, within his ivory skull, existed a beautiful mind. However, that mind was marred by tragedy, causing boy-Dave to retreat into himself to cope. The death of his brother at a young age. A tumultuous, if not downright chaotic, relationship with his dead brother’s girlfriend. It could not be argued that Dave was cold, nor was he antisocial; he was warm when spoken to, not shooting down attempts at conversation, yet, still, some part of him was reserved. From his childhood tragedies, he had learned not to touch the metaphorical fire, lest he get burned. He maintained a fear of getting too close to anyone or anything. He protected himself from the world. Perhaps that, then, was the reason Dave loved the heavens so dearly – endlessly expanding, a work of art entirely in jet black, a place so deathly silent and empty in comparison to the busy world; it was his refuge. 

And now, here he was, in space. Not exactly in space – more correctly, he was in a spaceship that was in space. However, with just two other living beings, Frank and myself, on board the largely empty ship with him, it seemed to be enough physical space for Dave to be satisfied, even if he was not out floating in the black nothingness. He hardly ever spoke; when he did, it was typically to HAL in order to issue a command. Sometimes he spoke to Frank to share mission information. I was practically invisible to Dave, who only really smiled or nodded if he caught me glancing at him. 

Frank, obviously the more extroverted and socially needy of the two, had taken to playing games of chess with HAL for hours on end, though never winning; HAL, as Chandra and himself had asserted, was foolproof and incapable of error. Like Frank, often times, I would find myself in the company of the AI, in search of companionship, entertainment, and conversation. He excelled as both a talker and a listener. 

* * *

In spite of his lack of mortality, HAL made for arguably better company then the only other humans aboard. Frank, ever talkative, craved the presence of another person, simply for them to nod their head, pretend they were listening, and offer a shy, yet friendly, smile. It was as if Frank could talk forever, even without an audience. Regardless, his camaraderie was welcome – he was quite the jokester, though a bit crude, and he could make just about any situation better, even if I were stuck in space beside him as a lone woman.

“Ya know, I’ve been thinking, HAL could give me a nickname – I’m getting kind of sick of being called Frank. The only names you ever hear on this ship are yours, mine, HAL’s and Dave’s,” he mused once.

Another time: “I like having you around. It’s nice to be surrounded by women. But not as much when you’re surrounded by other men, too.”

“You think we could time travel? Or freeze time? I mean, it’s damn possible on this ship, since we’re doing the same shit we were weeks ago.”

It seemed Frank could never stop talking, his loud voice echoing through the habitation module.

It was no surprise, then, that Dave relished in the relative quiet when Frank’s parents called. HAL would alert Frank to his incoming video message, and, ever the dutiful son, he would take his place before a screen and converse with his doting father and mother, happy to have someone else to interact with just as much as he was happy to have someone to listen to his every word, knowing that Dave and I were sometimes worn thin by his social neediness. His voice got softer, silenter; we could all enjoy the peace. I wordlessly thanked Frank’s parents for extending the figurative olive branch whenever HAL announced an incoming call from them.

Dave’s alone time was more precious to him than all the riches in the world. He was able to recharge, refresh, and restore himself in his own presence, dousing himself in solitude. Although I didn’t mind talking with Frank, it could become quite exhausting – and I was curious to converse with Dave, to get to know him outside of the context of the mission. Something, though, continued to hold me back. Perhaps it was his quiet demeanor, hardly speaking unless spoken to; his ever-serious, focused expression; even slight intimidation by his exacting, studious personality. Who, though, was I to judge his personality, without ever making an effort to scratch his icy surface? Like the earth’s poles, Dave had a colder exterior, but, possibly, there could be a warm core underneath. 

As the days passed, I began to observe him more closely, just as he carefully observed all aspects of our mission and journey: necessary supplies, trip information, state of the ship, and so on. His eyes seemed to perpetually be looking at something from which he could inform himself. Dave monitored the life functions and vital signs of each fellow astronaut in suspended animation. Dave regularly inspected the EVA pods for usefulness and cleanliness. Dave jiggled the control board buttons to ensure they pressed down fully. Dave asked HAL for consistent updates on the state of the _Discovery_. 

Yet, his family never called. His friends never called. On occasion, interviewers called, set up by the USAA, resulting in Frank and Dave sitting down, speaking, and answering questions, taking hours at a time due to communication signal delay. It was as if Dave was unable to get a break from work – nor was he able to _give_ himself a break. Maybe he felt for HAL, whose mission responsibilities ranged over the entire operation of the ship; I asked Frank, who simply shook his head with a smile, muttering on about Dave being any employer’s dream. I believed that he was treading a fine line between _alone_ and _lonely_. 

Still, I watched, taking constant mental notes on his actions, habits, and, on occasion, his conversations with HAL and Frank. I never went so far as to study his patterns of sleep, though I did wonder if he ever slept or if he simply kept working, finding something, somewhere, to occupy himself with in some way. I noticed that Frank went for runs often around the habitation module for exercise. Dave didn’t bother joining, though he would sometimes stand to stretch his arms and legs. Rather, I learned, Dave drew.

His veiny hands would fly across the pages of his sketchpad, pencil in clutch, making feathery motions, as if bringing flock upon flock of birds to life. The dancing motion of his hands spoke what his mouth did not convey. He would flick his fingers in ways reminiscent of a piano master’s when performing, the noises of each stroke of the pencil booming with quiet. When sketching, Dr. David Bowman looked stronger, confident in his ability to manage his art just as much as the mission. His eyebrows furrowed. His eyes narrowed. His voice box shook. His veins became apparent through his fragile white skin. At the end of it all, as Frank came to a slow jog, Dave would whip the cover of his sketchpad back over the most recently adorned pages and close the book altogether, as if he were Epimethus attempting to rapidly close Pandora’s box.

***

For days, I silently prayed, in the secrecy of my own thoughts, for Frank to go on a longer run; consequently, that I might be able to ask Dave about his drawings. Even the ghost of a chance would quench my thirst for some way to interact with the reserved mission commander. All I needed was an encouraging push, a shove without the help of liquid courage. Vodka had told me previously that I could talk to men; but vodka had not met David Bowman. It would be up to me to do something. Curiosity was surely going to kill this cat – hopefully, satisfaction would bring it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT let's get some action going on with Bowman...! I PROMISE things will get steamy sooner or later.


	5. Atmosphere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atmosphere (n.) – the envelope of gaseous layers surrounding a celestial body

One day, whatever day it might have been, it happened. I know not how the stars and planets were aligned, nor if their alignment had any affect on my confidence, but as I heard the familiar thumps of Frank’s foot-to-floor contact echo around the spherical room, I glanced up, almost conditioned to do so by this point. I turned my head over to Dave, who was, as might be expected, hunched over his sketchpad, focused intently on whatever it was he was drawing. I got up from my place reading behind a control board and walked over to him. I knew he wouldn’t refuse a conversation, I realized as I gained composure, stepping towards him. He was certainly not bad-natured or mean. I had merely been wary of causing trouble in his solitary paradise.

“Dave – have you ever played a game of chess with HAL?” I asked coolly, making it seem less like an introduction and more like an actual interaction with purpose.

Dave looked up at me, blue eyes gleaming like the clean aqua clouds of Uranus, and scoffed, smile gently tugging at the ends of his lips. “I’d be stupid to challenge a computer that can’t make mistakes.”

“You might want to tell Frank, then. He’s never going to win.”

“I don’t think he’ll give up until he wins. At least it keeps him occupied.” He smirked.

I pursed my lips together, sensing the conversation going stale, close to death. He wasn’t socially awkward, as far as I could tell from our few exchanged words. He simply didn’t use more words than he needed to. He remained largely reserved. My fingers curled around the edge of the table he was seated at drawing, my nails clicking against the opaque surface.

“You don’t speak much to HAL as it is, anyway, outside of work.” I noticed that, for casual conversation, HAL nearly always initiated between him and Dave.

He brought his elbow to the table and placed his chin between his thumb and pointer finger in thought, looking down for a brief moment. “I suppose I don’t.”

If he wanted to talk work, then, I would talk work – that was the typical subject between us, anyway, on the few occasions we spoke. “So, what are your thoughts on the mission? What does HAL think?”

“It’s a little bit strange, to be completely honest. We don’t know what could be sending those signals out. I’m curious, myself, independent of the mission. HAL seems to agree.”

 _No, Dave,_ I wanted to say. _I want to know your deeper thoughts. What’s really going on in your mind – what are you biting your tongue for? Or are you really just that guarded?_ “There’s no clue on their origins?”

“There are hypotheses, but nothing’s certain.” He clenched his jaw, uncertain of which information to share – and how much of it he could disclose. “Intelligent life, a lost satellite or spacecraft, a reaction to contact with something dug up on the moon.” 

I leaned forward, stretching my arms out on the table, lowering myself towards him, yet keeping my distance. “What’s your opinion?”

“I can’t give you a fully truthful answer. Not so sure myself… it could be a number of things, really.”

He keeps quiet. I lean back and stretch my arms behind my back just as Frank passes us and makes another revolution on his near-daily exercise jog. He’s peaked my interest more so than usual now.

“Can you answer me this: care for a game of chess? There’s no unfair advantage that one of us would have against the other – no offense to HAL. I think I’d make a worthy opponent.”

Dave smiled softly, yet confidently, eyebrows raised. “I don’t see why not.”

* * *

We sat across from one another, tablet between us on the grey-white table, resemblant of foreign diplomats ready to strike a trade deal. Dave joined his hands together, elbows splayed out on either side of him. I placed my chin atop my hands and kept an unbreaking eye on the tablet screen before us.

“HAL, pull up a chess board, please.”

“Certainly.”

The tablet screen seemed to fizzle and pop, pixels changing colors and orders, before displaying a typical black-and-white, albeit two-dimensional, chess board, virtual pieces laid out in perfect order. White pieces on my side, black pieces on Dave’s.

“Ladies first,” Dave said, leaning back in his seat.

I mulled over my pawns, lined up on the digital board like ducks in a row; I hadn’t played chess in a decent while. _Pawns to the center, pieces to the center_ , I recalled hearing. I swept a central pawn two spaces ahead to the near middle of the board.

Dave did the same with his opposing pawn. I took his pawn, moving mine diagonally for the figurative kill. He moved a pawn two spaces ahead, directly next to mine. My king was bare. I sent a knight up two and one to the right, following the mandated pattern of movement, a soldier dutiful to my will – unlike the man across from me, who, especially in his more focused current state, presented an obstacle to my desire to do more, know more.

I could hear Dave’s exhalations as he studied the board before him, eyes scanning each piece and analyzing its position and potential. He swiped a finger, motioning his white bishop nearly into the path of my queen, one space away. I sent up another knight, two spaces between my wandering horse-riding troops. From him, a pawn two spaces ahead. I took the pawn next to his bishop with my knight. Another pawn forward from him. A knight from me next to his king.

“Ah,” Dave noted, swiping away my knight while marching his king one diagonal space forward.

* * *

“Check mate.” Dave looked up at me, a sly yet friendly smile playing out on his soft rouge lips. His blue eyes seemed to gleam with a successful kind of shine. I couldn’t say I was surprised by my defeat; I had expected as much.

“A well-played game, but Dave wins,” HAL remarked, resetting the board with a quick blanking of the screen. “Sorry.”

“Well-played, yeah,” Dave nodded, standing up from his chair. “Good game.”

And that was that.

Until two days later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting a bit closer to Dave... also, sorry for the long wait, I was on vacation and had some writer's block. This is a quick-read chapter, but I am working full speed ahead still! I PROMISE the sex is coming...


	6. Zenith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zenith (n.) – the highest point reached on the celestial sphere located directly overhead from an observer

The food onboard the _Discovery_ was, simply put, bland and unmiraculous. It was served warm, directly from a heater, in small, plastic containers, in the form of a paste comparable to refried beans. There were options, at least – we could choose four food containers to fit onto a tray – to make things a bit more bearable. Yet the food remained merely that: food. When it came to meals, it was not likely that anything other than proper nutrition and some variety had been considered for us; being on this mission was part of a job, and decent taste was a luxury unfit for it.

As per usual, we typically ate three tasteless meals per day: breakfast, lunch, and dinner, though the times were quite off without the earthly rise and set of the sun to guide the day. Mostly, we ate alone; but rarely was it just two of us eating together. More often than not, when it was that way, Frank ate with me, making casual conversation and having his chatty, womanizing (or rather, attempted-womanizing) way. It was even more rare, though, for the three of us to eat together, given our so-called shifts and sleep-work cycles playing off of one another’s. Dave and Frank worked like a yin and yang. For the most part, as one slept, the other was at work, yet they would be awake, cooperating on whatever task was at hand, for a handful of hours before the other took over the “day” shift. 

For now, it was Frank and I eating together at the same central table where Dave had been drawing a few days before, our utensils clanking against the bottoms of the shallow food trays as we scooped up our next bites in between exchanged words. We discussed my chess match – my chess failure, as I had been beaten quickly and methodically. The ship hummed with the life of HAL quietly working on various maintenance tasks behind the scenes. Our conversation seemed to echo off of the lifeless grey walls surrounding us as we spoke with gusto.

“Ya don’t say – I think Dave may even be a decent challenge for HAL when it comes to that stuff. Guy’s got some serious skill. What his sociableness lacks, his mind makes up for.” He stuffed a bite of some sort of dried meat in his mouth. “He’s more wise than witty, if I have to be honest, though.”

I nodded in agreement, though I didn’t truly know him well enough to concur with Frank’s statement. “Can’t say he’s a man of many words.”

“Isn’t that true!” Frank blew between his lips – _pffft_ – and rolled his eyes, conveying annoyance with Dave’s lack of personableness. “He’s a good friend and coworker, but man, if I didn’t think he was downright boring sometimes. Wonder what goes through that guy’s head. His mind is probably busier than his mouth will ever be!”

I picked at the unappetizing food before me with a spork. Tasteless, absolutely tasteless. I wasn’t even sure if the vegetables I had chosen were what I selected – they were only a bland paste. Even the colors and textures were flat and boring. Not that I expected restaurant quality; though, some effort would have been appreciated. “I can’t really place him, Frank. He’s a tough one to understand. I mean, I understand when he talks to me – I mean, just – _psht_ – you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I get it. Can’t pin him down.” A slight mischievous smile, a sly dance of the eyes in my direction. “Women are more complicated, I guarantee it. Might as well say you’re hard to pin down, too.” 

Another masked advance to rebuke – not that I didn’t find Frank attractive, as he was handsome, nor that I was entirely uninterested. I didn’t want to be on this ship as a sex object, though that had fully been my purpose in being put aboard with five other men. I knew it just as well as they did – and just as well as mission control did. It wasn’t as much of a secret as I would’ve liked it to be. The cat, quite obviously, was out of the bag. And yet, strangely enough, neither Frank nor Dave had put me to work, as it were. I silently thanked my lucky stars.

“Am I really? What makes you say that?”

“Mmm. I guess it’s because you’re a woman. You’re the only woman here, and that makes you all the more complicated, even if you’ve got a simple personality.” 

I wanted to wince. Frank must have noticed my face turning into a cringe at his observations – whether they were a thinly-veiled insult or a sincere notice, I couldn’t differentiate.

“Not like that,” he shook his head. “It’s like this. If someone you didn’t know was suddenly paired with you on a project you’d been working on for months, you wouldn’t know what to make of them either, right? You don’t know them outside of the context of the project. Maybe it makes sense like that. It’s not a bad thing. I just… don’t know you… don’t know you in the way I know Dave.” _It’s because, Flirty Frank, you want to know me more intimately. As a woman, like Adam ‘knew’ Eve. Or maybe not. You’ve yet to act on it._ “Him and I, we’ve known each other a while, and not just because of work. We’ve spent time together, gotten drinks every once in a while.” He leaned in closer, almost afraid to say a word Dave might overhear the wrong way. “And, to be truthful, I think I might be one of his only friends. The guy’s a lone wolf.”

So much of a lone wolf was Dave that he strode up to the table at that very moment, full food tray in hand, an array of few colors in its four containers: yellow, tan, darker tan, green. _A disappointing choice for him as well_ , I mused. I _should be used to it by now. I wasn’t warned of this horrible food, though._ “Mind if I sit?” he asked, raising his eyebrows as his question interrupted my thoughts. Frank moved over to make room for him, and Dave slid into the spare seating.

“We were talking about how badly you beat her at chess,” Frank said.

Dave nodded, head down and eyes focused on his plate. For what words he didn’t have, he made up for in body language: reserved and withdrawn, even from Frank. “Ah,” he nodded. “She played a good game. I think there’s some untapped skill there.”

“A compliment from Dr. David Bowman himself! Now that’s something to take pride in,” Frank exclaimed, slapping my shoulder with the back of his hand to get my attention. I could feel Dave’s inner eye roll – not that he would actually physically roll his eyes. Maybe I did know Dave a bit more than I had originally thought, if I could predict his reactions so.

“Thanks, Dave,” I smiled timidly. “It’s been a few years since I played. I’m surprised I didn’t need a refresher course – I kind of expected to get my ass kicked, though.”

“Think you could beat HAL?” Frank prompted.

Dave seemed to mull it over for a bit, motioning his head side to side ever so slightly, almost as if only vibrating it. “I don’t consider myself errorless. But it’d be interesting to try.”

Frank bobbed his head in understanding, lips pursed in approval of Dave’s answer. “Fair enough. But he’ll beat you too, make no mistake of that.” A quick, easy laugh, more like a scoff. “I would know.”

“You would.” He definitely was not a man of many words.

I twirled my spork in my food. Dave’s jawline moved up and down as he sampled from his own platter, chewing quietly, focused on whatever was happening in his little world. I wondered just what kind of passport was needed to cross the border into his headspace. Perhaps it would remain forever closed off – he had, despite working for and representing the United States, adopted the Japanese mindset of _sakoku_ , keeping himself closed off from all other entities. He stayed within his own mind, but his thoughts – as well as his ability to think – seemed as limitless as the universe, unable to be set in boundaries. 

It would be a miracle, though, if the sound of Frank’s eager chewing, loud as it was, _didn’t_ penetrate Dave’s mindspace. I shot the loudmouth a stare, as if to say, _can’t you be any quieter?,_ but it was as if he didn’t notice. At least, I assumed, the louder he ate, the more he ate, and the sooner he might be gone. The sooner I could ask Dave about his drawings – if he was willing to discuss them at all. Sat between us, Frank continued to munch, swallowing, soon enough, his final bite and wiping a napkin across his lips with gusto.

“What day is it, by the way?” he swiveled his head, looking at both Dave and I for an answer. “It wouldn’t happen to be… Wednesday?”

I shrugged, leaving Dave to come up with the solution. I hadn’t been able to track days well without the rise and fall of the sun – it was as if, as we floated in space, we also floated in time, and there were no more seconds, minutes, hours, or even days as it all meshed together into one simple existence. That’s all I was doing on this ship, anyway – just existing. Just being present. Just being there for Frank and Dave.

HAL spoke up as Dave bit his lip in thought – he, too, had apparently relinquished his ability to mark time’s passing in favor of properly commanding the mission. “It is Wednesday, Frank. Your parents have sent a message as usual. Would you like to watch it?”

“Well, I’d be a bad son if I didn’t,” he muttered, sliding his tray towards the edge of the table. I scooted out of the booth to allow his exit. He sounded a bit defeated – the reason why, I knew not. I thanked Frank’s forgetfulness for reminding me of my own mission at hand. 

Once he plodded out of sight, and thus out of mind, off lounging around somewhere to greet his parents virtually, I slid back into my place in the booth, picking up my utensils again to keep eating my meal. It would turn too cold too soon, and by then, it would be all the more unappetizing.

“Do you think it’s worse than airplane food?” I questioned the quiet Dave seated next to me, though a healthy amount of space remained between us. 

“Mm. Probably in taste. But at least it has a little more prestige, being spaceflight food.” He seemed to muster a slight chuckle as he poked at his plate. 

I didn’t have any conversational material to work with from his response. It, like his expression, was flat, unfaltering. A classic Dave answer with a hint of analysis. I looked down and away, inhaling in thought before smacking my lips and simply taking the straightforward route to his mind. “Is it sketching I’ve seen you doing around here in your free time?”

He sat up and breathed in, placing down his spork on his tray. Perhaps he subconsciously perked up in defense, I mused, but he simply clicked his tongue. “Yeah, it is.” A shaky, slight – nervous? – nod. He came across as more tense than usual. Maybe it was better that I left this can of worms unopened; but, I had already asked, and he had already answered. 

“Well, that’s one way to pass the time. Plus, I bet you’ve improved more in drawing than Frank has in chess.” I offered a smile, but Dave’s expression refused to change, blue eyes unblinking.

“I suppose so.” 

Another dead end. Even HAL was a better conversationalist, and he wasn’t even human. But, I realized, there was one way to salvage the topic, although a bit risky.

“Your sketches, um – can I see them?” That sounded a bit more direct, a bit too impolite. I should’ve worded that more respectfully. I should’ve said _please_ and _may I_.

His face remained the same, but I imagined that he was not thrilled at my request. Again, though, I was disproven by Dave Bowman. “Sure.” With that, he slid out of the booth, stood up, and breezed away. I began to wonder if I had offended him after about a minute, sitting with my head in my hands, but I heard him reapproach after another minute or two, sketchpad in hand. He sat back down and coasted closer to me, setting his workbook down on the table between our respective food trays. He licked his finger and opened the cover, revealing the first page, a face drawn on it in loose, thick, black lines – a face I couldn’t quite name, yet one that looked familiar enough.

“That’s Dr. Kaminski.” he seemed to read my mind, giving me the answer, before I had to ask, in a relaxed tone. I looked towards him, moving my eyes from the page, only to be met by his hard blue gaze. Maybe he preferred not to look at his own drawings.

He flipped through the next few pages, each displaying our hibernating crewmate from a different angle and perspective – close up, from above, from the side, and so on.

The next pages showed Drs. Hunter and Whitehead, also in an endless sleep, displaying their resting figures in a suspended state of peace. I wondered if they were dreaming. Could they hear us? Did they know Dave had been drawing them? Were they aware of anything at all?

The next subject was HAL, only taking up two pages, with both pages filled with small rectangular renderings as opposed to one larger picture. And then he shut the cover abruptly.

“I think you’re very talented, Dave,” I began. “Nothing of me or Frank, though?” 

“We’ll see.”

I moved a bit closer, hoping he wouldn’t notice, but knowing all too well that he would. He had opened up a great deal of himself in opening his sketchpad. Through that, he had gotten closer to me, and now, I to him. “You should consider going back and redrawing Dr. Kaminski, see how far you’ve come. How you’ve improved, since we know Frank doesn’t have much to show in the way of that.”

“Mm-hmm. I’ll think about it. Thanks for the suggestion.” His stare was locked onto me still. I could feel it. Unlike HAL, whose omnipresence and surveillance of us was, at this point, hardly noticeable, Dave’s watch brought on an entirely new sensation. I tried to repress the goosebumps I could feel rising from knowing I was under his scrutinization.

“Yeah, no problem,” I hurried. “There’s a lot to draw around here that you haven’t, though. Not much scenery, I guess, but the whole setting we’re in. You could try that.”

Again, he clicked his tongue, signaling hesitant agreement. “Can’t say I think plain white walls are all that interesting of a subject, but I’ll bite.”

“How about the EVA pods, or the details on the walls in the pod bay? It’s the more eye-catching part of the ship, I’d say. And, we’re not down there as often – at least, not Frank and I, I don’t know about you.”

Dave cast his eyes down and pursed his lips. He addressed me by name, bluntly stating, “I’d like to ask you a question.”

“Go ahead.”

“How about you go find something interesting down there, and I’ll take a look at it. Worth a shot.”

* * *

I agreed, and within a moment’s time, I slunk out of the booth and descended into the pod bay from a ladder behind a cabin door. As I set foot on the floor of the bay’s atrium, I looked around for anything that could prove to be a decent subject matter for Dave, reminiscent of a game of hide and seek. There was HAL’s glowing red eye amidst a control panel and desk, three small white EVA pods, three spacewalk suits set on stands ready for use. 

I pointed towards HAL’s control dock as Dave made his way down behind me. “Have you sketched HAL in here? It’s not fair you haven’t captured all his angles, too.” The hum of the ship’s inner workings droned on around us, like white noise. The sounds ebbed and flowed before HAL broke the silence from behind the threshold as we crossed into the pod bay. 

“Why, Dave,” the AI remarked, “I believe that that is true. I do enjoy being treated as a sixth member of the crew. It makes me feel admirable.”

“I never said you weren’t, HAL,” Dave replied begrudgingly. “Of course you’re one of us.”

“Well, why don’t you draw him from here, then?”

“Alright, alright. It’ll be my next work.”

“I am eager to be your subject, Dave,” commented HAL. “Drawing should be a rather pleasurable way to take your mind off of work and de-stress a little bit. I find this suggestion rather beneficial for you.” 

“Fair enough. That’ll do, HAL,” he surrendered. For all his scientific scholarship, it was becoming apparent that Dave was not so skilled at saying no. He crossed back into the tiny, dimly-lit atrium of the pod bay, gesturing for me to go up the ladder ahead of him as I made my way over. I only made it about a step or two up before Dave’s arms grappled me from behind, wrapping around my waist and pulling me to him, nixing any possibility of escape. I could feel his chest against my back, his tall, lean form leaning into me and his face in my hair, taking me in. He moved me against the wall, facing me, then sliding his long fingers to the front of my unitard, pulling down the zipper and letting it fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mystery food sucks. Mysterious Dave sucks more. SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! I've been between major writer's block, school, and travel. Anyway... here it is, as promised, and, as a thanks for everyone's patience, it's an extra-long chapter! The next one is almost ready. Then back to writer's block...


	7. Nova

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nova (n.) – a star that suddenly becomes thousands of times brighter and then gradually fades to its original intensity

My partially-unzipped grey unitard now lay limp against my form, gravitating towards the floor in rebellion against staying on my body. “I’ve got you now,” Dave addressed me, breathing words into the crevice of my neck, ribbons of scarlet blush rising to his pale cheeks as he hastily slid a hand up my thigh. “My God…” his voice trailed off as his hand cupped my bottom, firming his grip on my plush skin, undoubtedly leaving yellow-red imprints where his fingertips coddled my rump. Between loosening and firming his feel of me, his left hand found its way past my bra and to my right breast, brushing his thumb over my hardening nipple, which only got more excited by his rough touch. Dave’s soft golden brown hair tickled my nape and collarbone, causing me to tense up, with him consequently tightening his grip. As he leaned into me, causing me to lean further back against the wall, I could feel his erection growing through his uniform fabric, rubbing against my thigh and likely growing ever harder from the constant friction. Had my hands not been suspended behind me due to his sudden, forceful way of pushing me against the wall, I would have stroked it unthinkingly. I hadn’t wanted Dave like this – though he had intrigued me, I intended to know him only intellectually. Not like this. Not before, at least. I hadn’t considered about him in a sexual context; I didn’t know he had wanted to go after me, though that was my entire reason for being aboard, so that Frank and Dave could chase me and relieve any pent-up desires expected of men. How sexist. And yet, here I was, giving into that stupid notion as Dave, hard for me, lusting for me, had begun to make me wet with a mutual desire. I could feel my entrance tingling and dampening in anticipation for some part of him, be it fingers, tongue, or cock, to go inside me. I found myself succumbing to his advances, directly in contrast to my way of shooting Frank’s down.

Dave drew his mouth from its place on my neck down to my free left breast, my other breast still at the mercy of his left hand and its firm squeezes, and swirled his tongue around my hardened nipple, all the easier for him to identify with closed eyes. I wanted to cry out in pleasure as his right hand moved from my bottom to my front, stroking, ever so lightly, the inside of my thigh, performing the very type of teasing he accused me of earlier. I arched over him in helplessness, my clit nearly throbbing in expectation of his touch. He swiftly delivered, pulling down my panties and beginning to rub his right thumb against the hood of my clit. Bringing his left hand down to my hip while opening his azure eyes, though keeping them downcast, he observed himself at work on me, continuing to rub me in a circular motion. _Touch me, rub me, Dave,_ I wanted to say, despite holding my tongue; my quiet panting and moaning, however, could not be held back as easily, finding its way through my clenched teeth. _Please, don’t stop, your touch feels so good. Touch me more. Make me cum._

As if he could read my thoughts, Dave got on one knee and knelt before me, his right hand continuing to rub me and his left hand gripping my hip ever so gently, though I could feel his unyielding hold on me. He examined the job in front of him before opening his mouth, meeting my entrance with his hot breath, dousing the area between my legs in warm, sticky saliva with his tongue. In conjunction with stroking my clit in motions ever quickening, he slid his tongue inside of me, tasting my juices and feeling the texture of my inner walls. The mix of pleasure and slight pain at his wide tongue spreading my vagina weakened my knees, and I nearly began to perch on his face, losing my good posture to his bad behavior. I knew that, should he keep this up, I would cum. The question was simply how long it took.

“Dr. Bowman,” I purred, not knowing how to address him directly, “I – if – if you keep this up – I’m going to cum.”

He said nothing, only flicking his eyes to look up at me instead of my bare cunt before him, looking for any sign of defeat in my visage. My eyes could not look into his; I could only squeeze them shut as I leaned back, arching at his increasing pace and eagerness. Feeling myself nearing the finish, I began to grind against Dave’s jaw, him groaning in apparent delight at this new movement, as I was clearly enjoying myself. 

“Oh, oh, my God. That feels so good… please don’t stop...”

In almost no time after the words left my mouth, Dave flicked his tongue just the right way inside of me, hitting my most sensitive spot over and over as he curled his tongue against my inner walls while, at the same time, rubbing against the hood of my clit, making it far more responsive to his touch. I could nearly feel my juices dripping directly onto his tongue. This proved to be the catalyst for my explosion; I arched my back further against the pod as I felt myself beginning to unravel, an icy hot sensation streaming down every nerve in my body.

“Ah – I’m gonna – I’m about to – I’m cumming –”

I writhed against his face, feeling myself come undone as my thighs embraced his jawline, grinding on his soft cheeks and spasming against his tongue, which continued to brush every crevice inside of me. His thumb did not stop rubbing me, perhaps even rubbing me faster, as I came all over his mouth. My eyes, rolling back in my head, were unable to see my juices squirting onto his peony lips as he removed his tongue from my labia, keeping his thumb in motion on my clit, continuing to lap up whatever I spilled out. 

“Mmm,” Dave murmured through licks and sucks, taking in as much of my juices as he could, tongue not relenting. Like a hummingbird at a nectar feeder, he drank from me, savoring every drop of what I produced; my orgasm was all his doing, and he would reap every reward. “Mmm-mm.”

My skinny figure still molding to the form of the flat wall I leaned upon, I breathed quickly and heavily, basking in the afterglow of my climax. But Dave, mission commander, had full reign of whatever might happen, just as he did for all onboard happenings. Having licked me clean, he stood up, coming up from one knee, and took my face in his right hand, kissing my neck with gentle fervor. He stopped suddenly, moving his head back to gaze down at me; his bright blue eyes, clouded over with lust, met my own.

“You play a dangerous game.” The astronaut brought my hands out from behind my back and placed them onto his chest, a shy smile dancing across his lips for the slightest moment. Was he really going to do this – to be the first one to screw me, when Frank Poole had been the one to come across so cocky and womanizing? To fuck me, unafraid of, maybe even enjoying HAL’s omnipresence, even if we tried to hide? To begin a mission separate from his main objective, his new side quest to know my body’s curves and edges?

I didn’t give any of those questions a second thought as I removed the rest of his clothing, beginning with his white undershirt and ending with his underwear, as he did the same to me. Save for the crumpled fabric at and around our feet, we were naked in front of one another, and perhaps even in front of HAL’s all-seeing eye. Unmoved by this somewhat unnerving thought – of course, all he likely had on the brain was my unclothed form in front of him, awaiting his next move – Dave spread my legs with his knee, rubbing my clit again with the same thumb, his eyes not breaking contact with mine, despite my efforts to look anywhere else but into his piercing stare. 

My hand moved to his cock, feeling it tense and harden at my touch wrapping around it, stroking it with careful vigor. The usually exact, calculating Dave was reduced to throwing his head back, thrusting into my hand with a quiet moan.

“Goddammit,” he cursed, hanging his head over his chest, watching my fingers envelop his dick and move up and down his shaft. Dave was beginning to breathe heavily enough that I was sure condensation would form, just as droplets of sweat were beginning to bead on his forehead. 

He pushed my hand off of his erection, taking it in his right hand and pumping it a few times before bending his knees, allowing the tip of his cock to tease my entrance. Back and forth, the head stroked my labia. Dave was obviously enjoying keeping me in anticipation, placing his left hand on the side of my head against the wall. With no warning aside from a sharp intake of breath, Dave pushed inside of me, making me mimic his sudden inhalation. I felt him against the texture of my insides, which remained tight around his cock despite accompanying his size and length. He pushed in all the way, then withdrew ever so slightly, only to re-enter me. The mission commander, ever dedicated to his work, began to thrust, his thighs slapping against my own as he motioned in and out of me.

“My God,” he hissed into my hair, leaning his head against my own for support. I could tell he hadn’t had this kind of contact in a while; his offish demeanor likely put women off, much as it had me when I first met him. He did not seem the type to foster such wanton relationships on a whim; for David Bowman, desire and trust had to come organically, lacking falseness and forced physicality; it had to be genuine. I thought of our previous encounters as his warm chest radiated heat between us, only to be interrupted by his moans of pleasure. “You feel so good…”

He planted his hands on either one of my shoulders, pushing me against the pod exterior, though I could hardly bend to its shape any more than I already had. Pinning me down for his use. Holding me in his grasp. In reciprocation, I moved my hands onto his back, bringing him in closer, taking in the sight of his hairless, smooth chest heaving. I leaned my head against his chest; his heartbeat was a thousand miles a minute, if not more, as he quickened his pace inside and out of me. He began to breathe heavier, unable to restrain himself from feeling the pleasure he had not been allowed by another human being in so long.

In our tight position, careful not to come under HAL’s scrutinous, watchful gaze, I could tell Dave was frustrated by his inability to change positions, his legs beginning to ache from keeping himself upright while thrusting. I ran my hands down his back, wordlessly directing him to take his time – for us to enjoy one another’s closeness and touch, to perhaps let our animalistic tendencies take over, to fulfill his needs. I, like him, craved the closeness I hadn’t felt in so long. It was lonely up there, out there, in the darkness of space.

Sweat perspiring along his brow, Dave felt himself close to faltering; soon enough, he would need to release. “Mm, mmm–” he mouthed through sighs, hands on my posterior, squeezing and kneading the supple skin there. He looked down and away, eyes clenched as he knocked his thighs against mine, groaning as he felt his orgasm descending upon him. He pulled out of me in one swift move, taking his cock in his right hand and giving it a few sturdy strokes.

“Mmm– ah!” he threw his head back as he came into his hand, some of his warm, white cum landing on my upper pubic area, my skin immediately feeling their heat in contrast to the cold air of the room around us. He continued to jerk himself off, movements skillful and astute, before limply hanging his head down in physical defeat. Dave’s crystalline, Carolina-blue eyes flitted in a daze as he caught his breath.

“Dr. Bowma–”

“Dave. Dave,” he corrected me through deep inhalations. “What the hell, uhh–” He bit his lip and flicked his wide eyes up at me, as if I had just startled him back into reality. Obviously, he had not yet achieved post-orgasmic clarity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;) This was posted a little late (sorry, vacation) so enjoy, next installment up... when I can think of it.


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